


sweet little lies

by ongelma



Series: sweet verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ongelma/pseuds/ongelma
Summary: He's so beautiful lying there on the scratchy bedsheets, with his endless ocean eyes, creamy white skin and bony ankles - he's an alpha and so is Bucky.And everyone knows Alphas don't go with Alphas.





	sweet little lies

**Author's Note:**

> just a little nugget of alpha/alpha stucky since the fandom is in grave need of it  
>   
> enjoy xo  
>   
> this fic is also [available in Español](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080258); translated by the lovely [ZoraMV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoraMV/pseuds/ZoraMV)

Bucky Barnes has known he is an Alpha since the day he learned what that meant.

It shows in the way he carries himself high and proud, a little too full of himself, it shows in the way he whispers sweet nothings to the pretty omegas that hang around the dancehalls, it shows in the way he breathes against Steves neck, calm and content. Bucky Barnes makes all the omegas and betas preen and trip over themselves in their haste when he dances by, he makes all the other Alphas in the neighbourhood green with envy and red in the face, fists ready and chests puffed. But none of that matters since the only thing that matters - always has - is Steve.

Steve, oh little Steve, the scrappy boy who looks omega but screams Alpha, the little thing that hangs around the shopcorners selling newspapers or blue comics for a penny, the frail young man always battling pneumonia or scarlet fever, yapping at other Alphas when they yell nasty comments at pretty omegas. 

Everyone knows omegas go with Alphas. That's the way it is and has always been, it's forged in stone and steel and minds, it's black ink against white parchment on the constitution, it's written in songs and poems and great romance novels. Everyone knows this is the right way. Everyone knows Alphas aren't supposed to go with Alphas.

°

Bucky works all the odd jobs he can get, but most of his income comes from the docks, full of strong Alphas and quick tempers with quicker fists that like to fight just because they can. Alphas are supposed to fight and be aggressive and dominating, and with hunger screaming in their bellies and cold seeping to their bones, they're willing to do anything for any scraps they can get. Bucky brings home any measly dollars he can scrape together and Steve's always waiting for him, in bed, sitting on the rickety table or humming in front of the stove cooking nothing, and Bucky wonders how can any of this be wrong when it feels so right? When it feels like home between Steve's legs, behind him, on top of him, anywhere near him. How can something that feels so good be so wrong? Bucky thinks it must be the sinner in him whispering those sweet little lies in his ears, but he's always been more keen walking the road leading to Hell rather than the cascading ivory stairs to Heaven. 

People are living in dirty houses on even dirtier streets and there's a war coming and everyone knows Alphas aren't supposed to go with Alphas.

°

When they make love (because Steve refuses to call it anything but) it's like the holy choir of God himself is singing in Bucky's ears when he hears the sweet moans and uneven breaths Steve makes when Bucky moves inside him. It screams pure symphony when Steve takes the lead and fucks him, always with such strong strokes despite his small frame and shitty lungs. It hums quietly when they just lie next to each other and stare at the low ceiling, following cracks in the cement and counting spider webs that hang in the corners. 

The war is here and Bucky has a red stamped goverment letter tucked inside his workcoat, hidden with his heart. He's scared, so scared of dying, of leaving Steve and never coming back. You hear horror stories in the dancehalls that have grown quiet in recent months and fear grows inside you because those stories put the most fearful look in the wildest Alphas eyes. 

The war is here and people are dying and Alphas still don't go with Alphas.

°

Steve is dying. It's pneumonia this time, for the second time in six months. It looks bad, it's the third day and Steve isn't looking any better than the day before. Sarah's sleeping in a chair on the other side of the bed, desperate for any kind of respite while Bucky keeps watch. The priest came today and delivered the rites (for the fifth time) and it's looking worse with any minute ticking by. Steve's been sleeping for most of the day and any time he wakes up it's only for a few minutes before he's under again. Bucky keeps wetting the cloth and reapplying it to Steve's forehead, but the water is dirty from rusted pipes and the cloth a piece from old curtains that Bucky once found lying behind one of the more fancier dancehalls. Sitting on the edge of the bed Bucky weeps and prays to God, apologizes for not praying in years and prays again. 

He clutches his mothers rosary in one hand and Steve's sweaty palm in the other. He prays for anyone who might be listening, and he isn't scared of dying anymore. He's scared of Steve dying before he has a chance to really live.

The war is here and Bucky is leaving for base in a week and Steve is dying, and Alphas will never go with Alphas. 

**Author's Note:**

> english is my third language, so keep that in mind when commenting and be kind. :)


End file.
